Blackbird: Fly
by Crymson Tyrdrop
Summary: Snape has a crush on someone...(I wrote this while the little voice that tells me I'm obsessed was locked in the closet) PG for one bad word. Watch my attempts at dialogue fail miserably.


A/N disclaimer thingydoo: Not really a songfic, I just stuck the lyrics in because they kind of inspired this piece. I actually twisted the fic to fit the lyrics more than the other way around. Anyone you recognize belongs to J. K. Rowling the great, maysheliveforever. I read somewhere that people think that the present tense kills a fic, but it was easier, with all the introspection, and there's very little plot, so it shouldn't be too confusing. Sorry if that ruins it for you! Also, in my twisted timeline, McGonagall is only about 5 or 10 years older than Snape. And, yes, I know Snape's out of character. That's because he sounds like *me* -- that's how I write introspective pieces like this. I'm working on typing in a companion story to this, and I'd better shut up before the A/N gets longer than the story.

*Blackbird singing in the dead of night,

Take these broken wings and learn to fly,

All your life,

You were only waiting for this moment to arise*

-"Blackbird", Lennon/McCartney

Blackbird: Fly.

I stand on top of the Astronomy Tower, staring out across the dark woods. Most of me students would be amazed to see me out of my dungeon. I'm sure it's not a "healthy coping method," but just staying away from everyone, locked in my own little office, my own little world, works for me. I don't have to deal with anyone except my students, and they learn quickly not to cross me.

The downside of this is that I don't see her very much. I never thought there would be a "her." It always suited me just fine to be left alone. And then she came along, and my loneliness was filled with thoughts of her. Now, it hurts to be alone. For the first time since I was a very small child, I want to be with someone.

I do see her some, of course. At a boarding school like this one, it's almost impossible to avoid someone completely, especially if you're both teachers there.

Both teachers, but so different. I'm the Head of Slytherin, she's the Head of Gryffindor. We have a thousand years of house rivalry working against us – but there is no "us". And there never will be. She thinks I'm a disgusting bastard – nice to see the image I work so hard on is believed. And I want to see her smile. This is ironic, coming from me, Professor Scowl, but I just know her eyes would light up, and her face would softenI can almost see it now.

I wish I could see her smile, know that it was me she was looking at with a fond light in her eye, but it will never happen. No matter how much I think about it, it will stay wishful thinking. And I won't tell her. And then it will be too late.

I start down the stairs. Such thoughts will get me nowhere, and I have a class to teach tomorrow morning. Not that I think my students will notice that I'm grumpy from lack of sleep. They probably don't think I need sleep. Probably think I spend my nights sacrificing infants in my dungeon. Or sucking on lemons. Somehow I don't think they'd believe I spend them pining over the Transfiguration teacher.

Almost as if she knows I'd been thinking of her, she suddenly turns around a corner. I think I see a brief flicker of – something – in her eyes, but I know I'm just seeing what I want to see. I have a bit of trouble composing my own features, as I always seem to around her. I'm so transparent, how can she possibly not know how I feel?

"Minerva." I say this with my customary sarcasm, as if I'm really saying, "My, my, look at this **lovely** specimen of humanity," or the like. I don't want to seem as if I'm mocking her, but I always do. I don't want to hurt her --.

"Severus." She says this coolly, with disdain. I am below her, and I know it. I just wish she would raise me up, and let me fly with her.

"Lovely night for a midnight stroll, isn't it? You don't want to stay up too late, or you won't be able to teach tomorrow, and won't **that** be a tragedy." Why can't I say something else, ask how she's been, why she isn't in bed like any sane person would be, anything but the sarcastic barbs that come as easily as breathing?

"Not **nearly** as much of a tragedy as it would be if _you_ missed a class – I'm sure your students would miss you terribly." The only times we ever talk, we argue. The only words we exchange are designed to wound. Why, oh, why couldn't things have been different?

I mold my face back into its usual sneer, and say "I'm sure they would. Now, if you'll excuse me?" for lack of anything better to say.

I brush past her, probably a little closer than necessary. The tactical, cold part of my mind says, _You're doing it to put her off balance. A confused enemy is a beaten one._

No! screams the emotional part of me – the part I keep buried under sarcasm and greasy hair -- _Not everything is a battle. Not everyone is an enemy. Especially not her._

The realistic part of my mind sneers, _You know exactly why you did that. Thinking with your heart again? Tsk, tsk, tsk._

I want to scream at all the different parts of me, to get them to fuse together, to agree on something. Or to just leave me alone.

Loneliness used to be enough. I used to be fine, alone with my pain and darkness. But now I find myself reaching towards the light. And the reaching hurts.

Please, Minerva, help me fly

A/N 2: Oh, dear, I seem to have given Severus MPD in this one *heh heh.* I like him, really I do, but he's so much fun to torture Watch for the companion piece, when I get un-lazy enough to type it. Please review and tell me what you thought!


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